


the taste of your lips

by terushimaYUUcrankthatsouljaboi, truthinadvertising



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9713738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terushimaYUUcrankthatsouljaboi/pseuds/terushimaYUUcrankthatsouljaboi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthinadvertising/pseuds/truthinadvertising
Summary: Oikawa just wants a regimented kitchen staff who listens to everything he says. What he gets is so much worse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Trying a new style, enjoy the Seijoh babies being dumb and cooking things.
> 
> BY NO MEANS AM I AN EXPERT ON HOW KITCHENS WORK OR COOKING IN GENERAL.

Kyoutani is early. He slams his locker door shut out of habit, not as an afterthought to his mood which happens to be vaguely peaceful today.

(as peaceful as he can feel after working a Friday night where everything that could go wrong went wrong.)

The dark smell of French roast pulls him from the staff room towards the front of house bar.

La Forêt is a homey place, deep colored wood and burnished copper warmed the dining area without feeling too outdated. The bar was a gorgeous oak creation imported from Italy but right now all Kyoutani could eyeball was the steaming white mug on the top.

‘Oh! Kyoutani, I-’

He whirled around to see Yahaba making his way out of the kitchen, clutching a plastic wrapped plate of what looked like an array of croissants in his hand. His eyes were startled, but withheld the fiery intensity they had claimed last night (that Kyoutani remembers so vividly and did not under any circumstances fall asleep thinking about). They were softer, crinkling with an early morning yawn.

‘Excuse me, I wasn’t expecting… well, um.’

Kyoutani grunted. ‘Oikawa’s at the market.’ He says in lieu of the biting comment waiting just behind his tongue.

Yahaba nods absently. He fiddled with the plastic wrap before- ‘Coffee?’

It’s not his smoothest line and Kyoutani stares at him in confusion. Yahaba flushes (and Kyoutani does not file that image away to think about while he’s making the soups later) and gestures towards the bar.

‘I was making coffee, would you like some?’

By that time the smell has permeated Kyoutani’s brain and he doesn’t think he could survive without feeling his blood pumping with an extra bit of caffeine in it so he nods. Yahaba shuffles over to the french press and begins cleaning it methodically, dumping the used grounds into a bucket for recycling before filling the glass with fresh roast. Kyoutani slides onto one of the bar stools, his crisp white jacket thrown over his shoulder haphazardly, obscuring the generic grey t shirt he normally wears underneath it.

Yahaba makes coffee naturally, and Kyoutani wouldn’t be surprised if he’d done it all his life. The most he knows about Yahaba’s upbringing was at some point his family moved to a small town in France and Yahaba learned pastries from his grandfather. He must have learned coffee as well, the confidence of pouring the boiling water and waiting for the brew without any timer before slowly pressing the plunger quietly astonishes Kyoutani.

(his world is loud and sharp, filled with aromas and color, yelling and angrily practicing over and over again until he gets it right. his is not a world of soft dough and sweet cream, calculated steps and quiet artistry.)

‘Here, they’re fresh.’

The comforting smell of black coffee and a plate he didn’t notice Yahaba reaching for slide into his senses. A golden pastry sits in front of him, though he neglects it for a quick sip of the hot mug.

His eyes close as the bitter hot liquid kicks his body into alertness and he may or may not admit to a soft groan at the sensation and taste.

(his eyes open just in time to meet Yahaba’s startled ones, glancing away from his mouth towards the buttery soft pastries in front of them.)

(he hides his smirk behind his mug.)

‘Didja make these?’

Yahaba looks back up to his face, meeting his eyes.

‘Yeah, Ennoshita lets me use his oven when I have free time so I helped with the scones and croissants this morning.’

Kyoutani nodded before taking a bite, washing down the warm melting pastry with comforting bitterness.

‘It’s good.’

Yahaba’s looking at him like he doesn’t quite believe his words, but he’s saved an explanation by a ruckus at the kitchen door.

‘Oikawa…’ He groans with an eye roll. Yahaba smiles and lifts his mug in a false toast.

‘Oh shut it.’ Kyoutani snaps, shoveling the rest of the pastry into his mouth and downing his coffee, the ease and softness of their moment vanishing with every shrill call from the back. He hops off the stool and brushes the crumbs from his shirt, sliding his chef’s jacket on before grabbing the dish ware.

‘Yaha- Shigeru.’

Started brown eyes glance in his direction.

‘Thanks. For the coffee and all.’

Yahaba smiles.

(he doesn't want to kiss it off his face, doesn't wonder if it tastes like butter and cream and coffee)

‘Anytime, Kentarou.’


End file.
